


The Loose Cannon

by julien (julie)



Category: The Last Don (TV 1997)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-10-10
Updated: 1997-10-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Giorgio has always tried to protect his nephew, but Dante is becoming more and more reckless. In desperation, Giorgio comes up with an unexpected way of learning more about Dante – and perhaps a way of teaching him as well.
Relationships: Giorgio Clericuzio/Dante Clericuzio (The Last Don)





	The Loose Cannon

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** I know, I know – it would take an ardent David Marciano fan to find Giorgio a sensual creature, but after all that’s what I am… 
> 
> **First published:** in my zine Homosapien #5 on 10 October 1997.

# The Loose Cannon 

♦

Giorgio regularly played squash with his nephew Dante, even though Dante always won and Giorgio wasn’t accustomed to losing. The difference in their ages was one reason that Dante won: Giorgio was in his early fifties now, and Dante was only twenty-one. But there was another reason that made the outcome inevitable, a reason that meant Giorgio accepted defeat gracefully while it simultaneously broke his heart. The reason was that Dante had the ferocious instincts of a killer, and in order to triumph he would stop at nothing. Giorgio Clericuzio, on the other hand, knew a line must always be drawn somewhere. There were some things that made victory a worthless result.

The family tried to contain Dante, tried to provide a home for him; and when Giorgio couldn’t prevent the younger man making mistakes, he deftly cleaned up after him. Dante would not be satisfied with that, however, or grateful; he was restless in this luxurious home on Long Island, even though the Clericuzio mansion had all the necessities and more, including the squash court and a pool in which Dante would swim three laps for every one of Giorgio’s…

Today it was another game of squash, another victory for Dante. When they were done – or, rather, when Giorgio was done, for Dante could play all day – Giorgio regarded his nephew with exasperation. The boy was dressed in the black baggy clothes of a street hoodlum, and as usual he wore an oddity that passed for headgear in these modern times. Giorgio swept the thing off Dante’s crown and tossed it back at him – Dante easily caught it though his hands were full – and Giorgio asked, ‘What do you wear those stupid hats for?’

‘Because they make me look like a _gangsta_.’

‘Don’t joke with me,’ Giorgio advised, deadly serious. ‘Don’t.’

The boy looked rebellious but also chagrined; a combination only Dante could manage. As he trailed Giorgio out of the squash court, he mumbled, ‘The other night. I knew I could count on you, Uncle Giorgio. I knew I could just call you…’

Giorgio glanced back at him. ‘Are you trying to tell me _Thank you_?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘Well, you’re my godson,’ Giorgio said flatly, turning away again. ‘I made a solemn promise to God and to your mother that I would take care of you.’

Dante snorted, apparently surprised and blackly amused. ‘I don’t figure God meant for you to take care of me after I murdered someone.’

‘Someone,’ Giorgio echoed as they reached the stairs leading up into the house. ‘Who was she, Dante?’

‘What?’

‘Was she your girlfriend? Was she running around behind your back?’

‘Hey, look,’ Dante blustered. ‘That girl, she was nothing to me.’

‘If she meant so little to you, then why did you do it?’

‘Because I take after my grandfather. I’ve got Sicilian blood.’

They were in the corridor now – Giorgio turned on his nephew, and laid it all out for him. ‘Stop acting like a damn clown. The family does not take risks. We would never commit such an act unless we had a good reason.’

That shut the young man up for a moment or two. He wandered disconsolately after Giorgio into the bathroom, and then finally found an answer. ‘Yeah, well,’ Dante announced, ‘maybe I want _respect_ , huh? Maybe I want the same kind of respect that you give to that slime-ball, that… that _killer_ , Pippi. Huh? He’s a killer.’

Ah, yes, Pippi De Lena; Giorgio’s cousin and the family’s executioner. There had always been a jostling rivalry between Dante and Pippi’s son Cross; now it appeared that Dante had set his sights higher, and was jealous of Pippi, too. But Pippi was an entirely different kind of man to Dante Clericuzio. ‘Pippi has a good heart. What he does is never for pleasure.’

Dante slumped into the old barber’s chair. ‘What are you saying – are you saying that _I_ don’t have a good heart?’ And the boy had stammered that out, patently vulnerable.

Again, Giorgio gave it to him straight. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, Dante. She was a young girl.’

‘That girl was a little whore.’ He belligerently slid the hat back on, tugging it low over his brow. ‘Just like the rest of them.’

Giorgio had his back turned, washing his hands in the basin. He found he had paused, his nephew’s ignorance and doom and dark energy weighing heavy on him.

Hushed now, Dante asked, ‘Does the Don know?’

‘You’re his grandson: it would break his heart.’

That only provoked a laugh. ‘It would break his heart…’ Dante scoffed. ‘The _Don_ has a heart, and _Pippi_ has a heart, and _Cross_ … is Mr Chickenheart.’ Then he turned sad for a moment. ‘And my mother, she’s got a broken heart. And me, I don’t have a heart. What about you, Uncle Giorgio? Have you got a heart?’

Giorgio headed out into the corridor again. He threw over his shoulder, ‘Yeah, I still put up with you.’

The young man was complaining… ‘You don’t think I have a heart, and you don’t think I have any brains, either.’

There was no point in arguing with that, and he wouldn’t be believed if he tried. Giorgio remembered back to when Dante had dropped out of school at sixteen, and tried working for Giorgio on Wall Street. It hadn’t lasted long, because Dante was soon bored. The problem wasn’t a lack of brains, though. More like a restless recklessness, a waning motivation and, yes, a lack of heart. Dante had gone to work for another uncle’s construction company instead, saying that he enjoyed being outdoors.

The boy’s complaints had become a protest now. ‘You know, I love _all_ you guys, and you don’t give a damn about me.’

‘That’s not true, Dante,’ Giorgio replied, wrapping an avuncular arm around the boy’s shoulders. ‘We’ve always cared about you.’

‘What’s going to happen to me when my grandfather dies? I mean, Pippi’s going to take over – and he and Cross are going to join up with all the Las Vegas revenue behind them –’

Giorgio just smiled wryly while the boy ranted, wondering if Dante could possibly have forgotten who he was talking to: Giorgio was the Don’s eldest son, and his acknowledged heir; Pippi was a good soldier, who would not think of betrayal on that scale. Perhaps Dante was identifying with Pippi, and projecting his own ruthless ambitious dreams onto the man. Not that Giorgio himself had much to fear from his nephew: more than anything, Dante wanted only to belong.

‘I should be _included_ in the family business,’ Dante concluded: ‘I’m his grandson.’

‘The Don never wanted you to be involved.’ In fact, the Don was slowly but surely moving the whole enterprise into legality, and had never wanted any of his grandchildren to even be aware of the dark source of their fortunes.

‘Well, then, why don’t you talk to him? I mean, help me out, _talk_ to him.’

_Help me out_ , the boy said… Giorgio was beginning to suspect that Dante would not make it into legitimacy with the rest of his generation. The boy had a lethal mix of Clericuzio and Santadio blood in his veins. ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do,’ Giorgio promised him. ‘But get rid of the hat.’ He leaned closer to advise, ‘It’s better not to stand out in a crowd, or call attention to yourself, do you understand?’

‘Listen,’ Dante blustered, ‘dead guys don’t talk. If I’m on a job, I’m going to kill _everybody_ there.’

Giorgio framed that bold and handsome face of Dante’s in both hands. ‘Stop acting like an idiot.’ He gave the boy a shake, and then Giorgio turned to walk away.

A whisper stopped him. ‘Hey, what did they do with her body?’

‘There was a communion. Her body will never be found.’

And still Dante trailed after him, as relentless as a puppy. ‘Uncle Giorgio… I mean it: I want in, I want to be part of this stuff, I want to _do_ that.’

Which was when an idea occurred to Giorgio. A way of diverting Dante for a time, a possible way of preventing other unfortunate murders, an intimate way of assessing the boy. Giorgio stopped, and considered the young man for a long moment, standing there in the diffuse light falling through a stained glass window. Slowly, Giorgio said, ‘You need the thrills, you need the danger so bad – have you never thought of looking for that within the family?’

Dante didn’t take his meaning at first; and even when he did, he doubted. Giorgio stood there, cool under the searching gaze, conveying all Dante needed to know through unwavering eyes. A smile twisted Dante’s lips, and he turned away, glancing back at him askance. ‘Why, Uncle Giorgio… you dark horse.’

Giorgio let his expression harden, and then walked away. The affair would happen, or not, as the young man decided.

♦

It had been many years since Giorgio last took a lover; the Don favoured discretion in such matters, and Giorgio was nothing if not a loyal son. He mulled over the past and the present that night, alone as usual in his enormous four-poster bed. During the following days he remembered his passion, his imagination, his sensuality; he remembered and resummoned them. Those hungers weren’t buried very deeply, though he’d thought he was done with them in this life. They may have lain dormant within him, but they were still there, and they were as vivid as ever once dusted off.

Dante assisted the process, wittingly or not… The young man was strong, unrefined, but handsome. Dangerous. At first he’d cast speculative glances at Giorgio, usually when there wasn’t anyone else to notice. Giorgio knew Dante’s interest wouldn’t be caught by the older man’s physical attractions, for he’d let himself get out of shape: Giorgio was no longer possessed of the slim figure that, in his youth and middle-age, had made up for an awkwardly-put-together face. No, Dante would be enticed by other traits.

So Giorgio bore Dante’s glances with equanimity, and returned them with certainty. Soon it became obvious that Dante was seriously considering the odd notion that his uncle had put forward. Giorgio began watching the youth with an intensity he hadn’t felt since… since the sad Santadio business. Which was a long time ago, back when this young man was nothing more than a secret in his mother’s belly.

Dante became intrigued. It seemed he was wondering what his uncle might be capable of in the way of darkness. Well, Giorgio had been a demanding and demanded lover, both before and after his marriage – he maintained his certainty, added an arrogant dash of promise, flexed his power a little. The heir apparent of the Clericuzio family had nothing to prove, everything to offer.

Soon, within seven days of Giorgio’s proposal, Dante decided to explore what might be available to him within the family.

♦

Late one night Dante walked into Giorgio’s bedroom. The young man’s feet were silent on the thick carpets, and he didn’t bother to knock. If he’d wanted to startle Giorgio, though, he was disappointed.

Giorgio was sitting in an easy chair by the fire, dressed in his pyjamas and a robe, reading a book. He looked up, and as Dante closed the door behind him, Giorgio put the book aside.

A moment of silence stretched, but then Dante of course rushed in and broke it. ‘So, give me thrills, give me danger.’ The young man smirked. ‘Give me sex.’

_Don’t play the fool_ , Giorgio might have said. Instead he ordered, ‘Take off your clothes.’ And he settled back in the chair, comfortable, his hands interlaced across his stomach.

‘You want – you want me to strip for you?’

A nod was the only reply necessary.

Another smirk. Dante was aware enough of his own attractions, and he’d never be too shy to flaunt them. The young man didn’t make a show of it; Dante simply took his time disrobing in the same way he no doubt undressed every night, letting each item of clothing fall where it would, and watching his uncle with a broad grin to check the effect he was having. Of course Dante left the ubiquitous silly hat on, perhaps wanting to provoke. Giorgio didn’t deign to notice.

Naked now, Dante stood there, hands on hips, his cock hanging heavily against his left thigh. A beautiful, muscled labourer’s body; glowing with youth even though worn by the elements. And that foolish hat. Giorgio felt a surge of irritation, of lust, of laughter. He let none of it show. ‘Come here,’ he said.

Dante walked closer, swaggering. Those solid masculine hips rocking, that impressive cock swaying. Soon he was standing there, in easy reach by Giorgio’s chair.

Giorgio calmly took off his glasses, folded them, and set them out of harm’s way. Then he buried his face in Dante’s groin: nose nudging the base of the young man’s cock; mouth seeking one of his balls, finding, enveloping, suckling it, rolling it over his tongue.

Letting out a hiss of surprise, Dante tensed, excitement stiffening him. Giorgio began exploring between that wide-legged stance, fingertips running back along the ridge there, teasing the sensitive skin around the boy’s hole… ‘No,’ Dante moaned, though he was standing still for it.

Shifting his mouth to the other testicle, Giorgio felt the engorging cock nudge at his throat; and then Dante was pressing closer, seeking friction, pressure. Giorgio had known this boy would turn on quickly, especially under expert if rusty guidance. ‘Hush,’ he murmured, withdrawing a little.

Dante glared down at him.

Giorgio sat back in his chair, placid, hands folded before him.

They stared at each other for a moment, Dante’s tempestuousness buffeting ineffectually against Giorgio’s calm. Then, even as Dante reached undisciplined hands to seek his own pleasure, he murmured, ‘Please, Uncle.’

A brief gesture from the older man: _Stand here_. Dante shifted to face Giorgio, straddling his thighs, and Giorgio pushed Dante’s hands away. They would do this at Giorgio’s pace…

He rasped the flat of his tongue up the length of Dante’s cock, and it quivered, grew harder. Ah, yes, this would be easy. Giorgio still remembered the detail of what a man liked. When Dante was ready, swift moments later, Giorgio took the flared cock-head into his mouth; Dante cried out. The boy was all impulse and no control – that was hardly news to Giorgio. Soon Dante was rocking in quick little thrusts, which Giorgio easily accommodated. The boy’s balls drew up, hard against himself, ready. Giorgio’s fingers increased their provocation –

– and then Dante wrapped a relentless hand around Giorgio’s nape, and was forcing him closer, ramming himself deeper down Giorgio’s throat…

There was nothing Giorgio could do for now except to accept Dante further into himself, for he wasn’t prepared to do this boy physical harm, not yet at least. The choice was to accept him or to choke, and Giorgio had too much dignity for the latter.

When Dante was done, and his seed had been swallowed, Giorgio allowed him a quiet moment. And then he tripped the boy over to lie on the floor, and followed him down, pressing Dante’s face to the carpet with a hand between his shoulder-blades. While weighing the boy down, Giorgio quickly sought a better hold on him – twisting Dante’s right arm behind his back. A simple matter, then, to slip himself free of his pyjamas with his other hand. ‘No, no, no,’ Dante was muttering, but he didn’t struggle; and while he was tense and tight, Giorgio entered him with little real resistance.

It was all over in a moment, for his long abstinence meant he was even quicker to finish than Dante had been. Giorgio let out a belated groan of satiation, withdrew, and fell back to lie on his side, bringing the boy with him. Dante lay there in his arms, half-consciously considering the fire’s flames and ashes.

The peace didn’t last long, of course. ‘Uncle Giorgio…’ Dante drawled. ‘I’d never have guessed.’

‘Still waters run deep,’ Giorgio commented.

‘Oh, and shallow waters babble, huh?’ The boy was abruptly radiating sarcasm and resentment. ‘Huh?’

Giorgio lifted an eyebrow as Dante twisted to look back at him. Dante could certainly learn to be quieter. Perhaps Giorgio could teach him something of peace – or was that an impossibility by now?

‘Are you queer?’

‘You need to ask me that?’

‘It’s just –’ Dante looked away. ‘You hear things. That gay cancer, the gay plague. It doesn’t sound so great.’ And he turned back around to soften the blow of this truth: ‘Uncle Giorgio, this is the eighties. There are risks.’

Giorgio let out a laugh. ‘You only appreciate certain kinds of danger?’

A shrug. ‘Life is for living, not for dying. At least, not like that.’

They looked at each other for a moment. Perhaps Dante wasn’t quite as self-destructive as Giorgio had assumed. ‘Well,’ he finally said with quiet reassurance, ‘you’re not at risk from me. I have more to fear from you.’

‘No!’ the boy protested. ‘I told you before, I _love_ you guys, I love _all_ of you, and –’

Giorgio found himself answering in kind, by kissing Dante; a fierce possession of Dante’s mouth with his own, nothing of sweetness or romance about it. Which was exactly how Dante said the word _love_.

The boy lay still for it, accepting Giorgio into himself, and afterwards he lay there staring up at his uncle. There was a heedless yearning in the core of him – not for Giorgio _per se_ , but for guidance or an anchor or certainty of some kind… He yearned for belonging.

‘Get dressed and go to your room,’ Giorgio said. Then he murmured, ‘Get some sleep.’

Wordlessly and obediently for once, Dante clambered to his feet, strong but lacking in grace. While he picked up his clothes and dragged them on, Giorgio resettled himself in his chair, sliding on his glasses, opening his book. Despite himself, he was touched when his godson came over to press a chaste kiss to his temple. ‘Good night, Uncle Giorgio.’

‘Good night, Dante.’

Then the boy was gone, walking with silent feet, closing the door gently behind him.

♦

‘How can you read like that all the time?’ Dante grumbled.

It was impolite of him: Giorgio set the book aside. Wanting to finish a chapter, he’d sent Dante away again to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses, but by the time the boy returned Giorgio was into the next chapter and hadn’t wanted to be interrupted. Dante had been remarkably patient, sitting there by the fire at Giorgio’s feet, and sipping the wine. ‘I’m sorry,’ Giorgio said. ‘I shouldn’t ignore you.’

Dante shrugged the apology off. ‘I just don’t know how you do it. I’ve never read a book.’

‘No?’

‘Not a whole one. I tried a few times, but I never got very far.’

‘What about school?’ Giorgio asked, though he guessed the answer.

Another shrug, and Dante looking away as if conscious of wrong-doing. ‘If we had to write a book report I’d pay someone to do it for me. Or threaten to beat them up if they didn’t.’

‘That’s sad, Dante.’

The boy grimaced up at him as if suspecting Giorgio of sarcasm or, worse, pity. When Dante saw compassion instead, the grimace melted away. Silence stretched into a brief peace. Dante held his glass up to the fire, contemplating its contents. ‘Sicilian wine,’ he intoned: ‘dark as blood.’

‘Is that all you think of?’ Giorgio found himself blurting out. A moment passed, in which Dante looked less surprised than Giorgio himself. Deciding to continue, Giorgio said, ‘Everything with you is blood or death or killing or vengeance. Don’t you ever think of other things?’

‘I think of sex,’ the boy retorted.

Shame flooded through Giorgio, along with self-doubt.

‘I think of the family, and I think of my mama.’

‘Yes, you do,’ Giorgio whispered. Dante was the only one of them to really know how to take care of Rose Marie, his mother and Giorgio’s younger sister. Poor beautiful Rose Marie, subject to the whims and demands of her madness…

‘I think of love.’

‘Would you read a book for me?’ Giorgio asked.

‘What book?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll find one you’ll like, and you could take your time with it, and tell me about it as you go. You could read it out loud to me, if you wanted.’

Dante grimaced again, considering. ‘I don’t know, Uncle Giorgio. I’m not so good at that stuff. Hey, did you talk to the Don for me?’

‘Not yet, Dante.’

‘I just _know_ I’d be brilliant at that; I’d be a good soldier for the family…’

It broke Giorgio’s heart all over again, that his nephew simply wasn’t going to make it into the legitimate life the Don had planned for him. The other children of Dante’s generation were earning college degrees and building careers for themselves; while this young man wanted nothing more or less than to oust Pippi De Lena from his position, and become the family’s executioner.

‘Wouldn’t I be a good soldier? Some day I’ll be the number one hammer for Don Clericuzio.’

‘Maybe you will,’ Giorgio allowed. And maybe Dante would be better at performing the complex task of murder than Cross, whom Pippi had insisted on bringing into the business. Because while Cross had the intelligence and the coolness, he cared too much deep down; and Dante had far more nerve, and a gut-deep irresistible urge.

‘So, will you talk to the Don, will you do that for me, huh?’

‘I’ll talk to him, I promised you that, Dante. But let me judge the best time. This isn’t something he wants to hear. All right?’

The boy broke into a grin. ‘Yeah.’ He put his wine down, and got to his knees, laid heavy hands on Giorgio’s thighs. ‘What do you have planned for us tonight, Uncle Giorgio?’

‘Take off your clothes, Dante.’

A stubborn expression deepened, along with a hint of excitement and daring. ‘Only if you take yours off, too.’

Giorgio let out a breath of laughter. ‘You really want that?’

‘Yeah… Come on, Uncle, get with the program. Get naked with me.’

‘I’m flattered.’ Giorgio ran a hand back over the boy’s head, smoothly knocking off yet another stupid hat while caressing him; returning to ruffle the dark hair. ‘Thank you. But I think I’ll maintain a little dignity.’ Dante was about to voice a protest – Giorgio captured his face in both hands and leaned forward to kiss him instead. When he broke away he said, ‘You’re used to young flesh. Don’t make me into a disappointment.’

‘You’ll never disappoint me, Uncle Giorgio – you’re the next Don, right? You’re not going to let Pippi take over. I’ll always do what you say, and I’ll always respect you, and I’ll always love you.’

Such an extravagant promise; and though such loyalty was only to be expected, Giorgio felt chilled. ‘Is that why you’re doing this? For the sake of ambition?’

There was that mixture of rebelliousness and chagrin again. ‘Hey, I’m doing this because I like it.’ A pleading look, and the boy pushing up for another kiss. ‘I like doing this with you, Uncle Giorgio.’

The chill remained, though Giorgio soon began carrying out his plan. Within minutes, Dante was standing at the foot of Giorgio’s four-poster bed, spread-eagled, with his wrists and ankles tied securely to the posts at either side of him…

♦

Another midnight, a week later… Giorgio didn’t bother securing the young man this time: he just walked Dante to the middle of the room, and ordered him, ‘Stay still. Don’t move.’ And then Giorgio set about slowly pleasuring him.

He’d discovered, soon after this affair began, that when Dante was aroused there were few things he liked better than for Giorgio to take his balls in a firm grasp and tug roughly down on them. Giorgio stood there before him and did that now – and kept on doing it for an endless time, until Dante’s cock was so engorged it appeared painful.

‘Please, Uncle,’ the boy was murmuring, fraught with need, eyelids fluttering heavily. ‘Please…’

Giorgio maintained the steady rhythm; rolling the boy’s testes between palm and fingers and then tugging down, massaging and grasping and tugging, again and again. There was no need to touch him anywhere else. Obedient even while this thoroughly provoked, Dante wasn’t conscious of moving; but the boy was so far gone that he was swaying slightly, having nothing to hold on to for balance.

‘Please, Uncle.’

Deciding to tease a little, Giorgio leaned down to bite at one of Dante’s nipples. The young man groaned, and somehow kept himself from letting his head fall back.

‘Please! Finish me… then you can do what you like to me, for as long as you like, I promise. Please, Uncle…’

Giorgio glanced at the clock by his bed, and was surprised by the time. It seemed Dante had learned something about self-control, for he had stayed as still as was physically possible for quite some while, despite having good reason not to.

‘Please…’

As a reward Giorgio knelt on the floor, at last took that angry-red cock-head into his mouth, and let the young man have the release he craved. It was over in a moment.

And then, when Dante’s sobbing breath had quieted again, he rawly whispered, ‘Can I move now, Uncle?’

Giorgio smiled up at him, pleased. ‘Yes.’

Instead of simply collapsing, Dante sank to his knees; then he pushed Giorgio gently back until the older man was half-lying on the carpet, propped up on his elbows. And Dante gave Giorgio his own reward, for Dante crouched over Giorgio, rummaged through his pyjamas and went down on him, not bothering to ask for permission.

Afterwards, Giorgio went to sit in his easy chair by the fire, his bones too old now for lying on the floor for too long. Dante curled up at his feet, head resting in Giorgio’s lap, and they shared a moment of peace.

Which Dante soon shattered with a blundering, dangerous question. ‘Uncle Giorgio,’ the boy said, mouth moving against the silk of Giorgio’s robe, the sensitive skin of his thigh. ‘You’re going to inherit all this when the Don dies. The family, the business, the power, the money, all kinds of stuff. Don’t you ever wish… I mean, don’t you ever get impatient?’

That chill settled round Giorgio’s heart once more. He was silent until at last Dante lifted his head to look up at Giorgio. Then, with his most severe expression firmly in place, Giorgio said, ‘He’s my _father_ , Dante; I would never wish him harm, I would never _do_ him harm. I won’t hear that kind of talk.’

Dante turned away, face dark with shame and annoyance.

Giorgio persisted. ‘You love your grandfather, too. Don’t you?’ For he thought there’d always been a special if unlikely bond between the old man and this most troublesome of his descendants.

‘Of course I do, Uncle Giorgio. I wouldn’t hurt him, either, I promise. And I’d never hurt you, especially after what we’ve been doing together. I was just talking, you know, shooting the breeze…’

‘There’s no one in this house who would stand to listen to such things. You take better care, Dante. I love you, so I want you to think hard about this: you be careful about who you decide to wage war on, and why; you consider what you might gain and what you might lose.’

Dante was gazing up at him by now; imploring, sincere. ‘I shouldn’t have said any of that; I never meant it, Uncle. I love all of you, you _know_ that. I love you.’

Giorgio relented a little, though he was still frowning down at the boy. ‘And for God’s sake, think about what you’re saying _before_ you say it. You’re a fool for talking to me about this.’

‘Yes, Uncle Giorgio. I’m sorry.’

After letting another long moment stretch, Giorgio at last lifted a hand to ruffle the recalcitrant dark hair. ‘I forgive you,’ he said. Quietly he asked, ‘Dante, is it so hard to understand that I’m content with things the way they are? I love my father, I sit at his right hand, I’m his second-in-command. I have my business on Wall Street, I have the love of this family, I have power and responsibility far beyond most men in this wonderful country. In time, I’ll be given even more. Is it so difficult for you to understand that these are blessings enough?’

Dante dropped his head to Giorgio’s lap again, burying his face in the silk, pressing hard against Giorgio’s thighs and quiescent genitals. ‘Of course, I’m so stupid. I’m sorry, Uncle Giorgio. I have blessings, too.’

They let the matter rest there. For the first time, Dante slept the night in Giorgio’s bed.

♦

They often explored the notion of surrender, the meaning of power. Sometimes Giorgio would try to demonstrate that the chase or the foreplay could provide pleasure enough for its own sake.

Tonight Giorgio and Dante were playing cat-and-mouse in the mansion’s disused eastern wing, prowling through empty rooms, hiding behind furniture draped in dust-cloths, stalking each other… Dante, sure of winning, had declared that the cat would earn the right to do whatever he liked to the mouse, and it was obvious what he intended that would be. Giorgio, having enjoyed the weeks of their affair more than he’d anticipated, discovered he was willing to submit – not that he said as much. He’d let Dante work to claim his prize; and he’d learn even more about Dante from the young man’s style in doing that. Would he insist on the older man at last stripping naked? Giorgio wondered, hardly knowing what he wished for… Would Dante be rough or caring, or somehow combine both?

‘I know you’re in here,’ came Dante’s thick whisper.

Giorgio was crouched in the darkest of corners, between two sets of doors. Sound echoed oddly in this place, and he couldn’t quite locate Dante, other than guessing he was at the far end of the long room.

‘Do you remember playing cat-and-mouse when I was a kid?’ A quiet though filthy chuckle trickled through the room. ‘We’d play for different forfeits, though. You were always good to me, Giorgio.’

Perhaps it was safe to reply, as his words wouldn’t carry directly to the boy’s ears. Giorgio murmured, ‘I remember.’

‘You _are_ here!’ The barest whisper of a footfall as Dante began searching for him, determined to win. ‘The other kids and me, we’d play a different game when you grown-ups were gone. We’d play at being mobsters, and I was always the hit man.’

Giorgio closed his eyes for a moment, sagging. ‘None of you were ever meant to know.’

‘Well, we’re not stupid, Uncle Giorgio.’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘No, you’re not stupid.’ And Giorgio stole away through the door to his left…

Dante caught up with him soon enough in yet another room; crept up and surprised him, forcing Giorgio back against a wall before he’d even taken a breath. The young man was really very good at this kind of thing; he was a natural. When the opportunity next arose, Giorgio would speak to the Don about bringing Dante into the business, for the boy’s sake and for the family’s sake.

The two of them stared at each other across Dante’s forearm which was held solidly but not painfully across Giorgio’s throat with the hand gripping his shoulder. Dante’s other hand was lightly tracing a cross over Giorgio’s heart…

…and then Dante lifted his hand higher, and Giorgio saw that it hadn’t been a finger trailing across him, but the barrel of a hand-gun. No doubt loaded.

‘Oh, Dante,’ Giorgio whispered, mourning for his godchild.

The barrel lifted, slowly lifted, and came to rest at Giorgio’s temple.

Dante wouldn’t fire. Or, if he did, he would be ensuring his own death at Pippi’s hands. The family would be avenged, even against one of its own. So be it. There were worse ways to die.

Giorgio wrapped a hand around Dante’s nape, leaned forward, and captured the man’s mouth in a devouring kiss, biting at Dante’s fleshy lips and hungry tongue. The gun barrel remained steady, even as the kiss deepened.

When Dante broke away, he was grinning, appreciative and lusty. Even so, he said, ‘That’s a forfeit you owe me. But I’m not going to claim it yet… I’m going to win a second, and a third, and then we’ll have some serious fun.’

Despite himself, Giorgio was stirred by his lover. Stirred enough not to argue, or deny him, or take charge of the situation. He waited, gazing at Dante’s handsome cunning face, having half-expected to be taken, then and there, up against the wall. But it seemed that Dante had begun to learn the benefits of delaying gratification.

Dante stepped back, leaving the gun at Giorgio’s temple until he stepped back again and was no longer within arm’s reach. He turned, ready to run away and then begin stalking Giorgio again…

…which was when both men caught sight of Rose Marie just across the room. She was staring at them, fascinated, aghast, uncomprehending; staring at her son and her oldest brother. No doubt she had seen the gun. Maybe she had seen the kiss.

Giorgio murmured, ‘Go to your mama.’

And Dante of course was already doing so, slipping the gun away, speaking soothingly to her, reassuring her. Perhaps later she would ascribe all this to her hallucinations; for now, she shot a poisonous glare at Giorgio as she let herself be led away.

Sighing, Giorgio walked slowly back to his bedroom, where he spent the night alone.

♦

Dante didn’t come visit Giorgio for three nights after that; and when he did show up the young man seemed embarrassed, uncertain. And he was wearing a particularly ridiculous hat.

Giorgio sat there by the fire contemplating him. Eventually he observed, ‘You never claimed your forfeit.’

‘No…’ The poor child was reduced to shuffling his feet.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Giorgio coolly continued: ‘you’ve found someone else to play cat-and-mouse with. Someone outside the family.’

‘Well, you know.’ The boy shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. ‘So many bitches, so little time.’

Giorgio winced, and he let Dante see that: the boy needed to know that such attitudes would not win anyone’s approval.

‘Sorry, Uncle Giorgio,’ was the dutiful mutter. Though even that was a slight improvement on his former manners.

Finally, Giorgio put Dante out of his misery. ‘It’s all right. I release you. And there are no hard feelings – on either side. Isn’t that so, Dante?’

‘Yes, Uncle.’ Once more Giorgio’s godson came over to press an obedient kiss to his temple. ‘Good night, Uncle Giorgio.’

‘Good night, Dante.’

‘And, uh… thanks.’

Which was woefully inadequate, but Giorgio nodded regal acceptance. And then the boy was gone again, and the door was closed, and Giorgio said a silent farewell to his last lover. There would be no one else to compare to Dante in this lifetime.

Well, Giorgio had tried to help Dante, and he had mostly failed, which was sad. But he had gained a better understanding of who the boy was, and Giorgio was determined now to do as Dante wished. If the young man wasn’t kept within the fold, there was no telling what his ambition would drive him to do. Next time the Clericuzio family needed a violent action performed, Giorgio would recommend Dante for the task.

♦

Giorgio poured two glasses of Sicilian wine, and gave one to his father before sitting in the chair nearby him. The Don’s private study was quiet around them now that Giorgio’s brothers had retired for the night. _Dark as blood_ , Giorgio silently intoned, as he lifted his wine towards the firelight. And then he grimaced wryly at himself for the moment of romance. His accustomed life was settling around him, and his hungers were slowly beginning to slumber again…

Eventually the Don commented, ‘Dante has a short attention span.’

Bowing his head in humility, Giorgio reflected that he should have known: the Don was aware of everything that went on in his family. ‘I’m sorry, Pop,’ he offered. Woefully inadequate –

– but the Don nodded gracious acceptance of the apology. ‘You are sometimes more challenging to me than any of my children, Giorgio, and perhaps no one guesses that because you always behave as befits a good son. You’ve never kept your proclivities secret from me, of course, but to begin a liaison with your own nephew… I hardly knew what to think.’ Don Clericuzio sat in silence for a moment; and Giorgio waited through it, not without trepidation. ‘And then I realised that Dante is a unique problem, and perhaps it was time to try an unusual solution.’

‘Pop, I –’

‘No, don’t make excuses.’ The tone was severe now. ‘And don’t try to hide things from me, Giorgio. You’ve been trying to protect Dante, you’ve been trying to help him. You’ve covered up some of his unnecessary and rather distasteful actions.’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you do this with your godson’s welfare at heart. And I listened to you today, did I not? Dante will take responsibility for the Ballazzo matter; and if he does well, he will become my number two hammer.’ The Don appeared satisfied now, and ready to conclude the matter. ‘But Dante is full of trouble and strife. Giorgio, you have tried to reconcile his interests and the family’s interests…’

Giorgio ventured, ‘It’s not an easy task, Pop.’

A long silence stretched. The Don might even have dozed off. But eventually he lifted his glass, took a sip of the strong wine. ‘I fear that such a reconciliation will prove to be impossible.’

‘I hope not,’ said Giorgio. ‘I pray to God not.’

And father and son sat there in silence together, contemplating the ultimate fate of Dante Clericuzio.

♦


End file.
